


the adventures of dele & eric

by thomashelbys



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomashelbys/pseuds/thomashelbys
Summary: The way they fit – be it as teammates, friends, or boyfriends – makes him sure that he was meant to find Dele, in this life or in any other.





	1. the one with dele's injury

**Author's Note:**

> i've been thinking about writing a drabble collection for these two for a while now, so. here it is.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: 'dele's injury + hurt/comfort'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this.. became a bit more intense than what i had originally planned but i hope you like it!!

Eric is not surprised to find Dele already on the team bus after the game. He’s at the back, on their usual seat, with the hood of his coat pulled over his eyes and his head resting against the window, bathed in purplish-blue light. Eric is careful when he sits down beside Dele, mindful of his injured leg and the possibility of him being asleep.

Still Dele shuffles in his seat and opens his eyes, unsticking his head from the bus window as he turns to look at him. Eric swallows. The expression on Dele’s face after he went down in the 83rd minute – the worry mixed with pain mixed with hope – had broken Eric’s heart then, but nothing prepares him for the absolute devastation he is seeing now. He hates the dull look on Dele’s eyes and the way pain tugs at the corners of his mouth, the dejected slump of his shoulders. Dele looks absolutely crushed, barely a shadow of the boy who had bounced around Eric’s place this morning. He had kissed Eric’s entire face before they left the house, excited for Eric’s potential return to the pitch, ready to bounce back after their unlucky run against United. More than that, Dele’s form for the past months has been incredible, and Eric knows that having to face such a setback at this point of the season must be killing his boyfriend.

Hugo and Jan make sure that the rest of the team stays concentrated from the middle to the front of the bus, giving them a moment of privacy that Eric deeply appreciates. He  closes his hand around Dele’s wrist, tugging gently as he murmurs _come here_. Dele goes, arranging their bodies in such way that Dele can hide his face against Eric’s neck without further straining his injured leg. Eric feels Dele swallowing convulsively, and he knows he’s trying to hold back his tears. He grabs a handful of Eric’s hoodie, his breathing getting shallow as he attempts to bury himself on Eric’s chest. He wraps an arm around Dele, hand running up and down his back as he starts to cry, silent tears that slowly wet the side of Eric’s neck and seep through his hoodie. Eric cups the back of Dele’s neck with his other hand, thumb caressing the shorter bits of his hair, pressing his lips to the side of Dele’s head and murmuring soft words as he lets him cry it out.

Frustration sits heavy on Eric’s gut as Dele cries, and the weight of not being able to help him further, of not being able to shield him from this, hits him like a punch on the nose. His eyes sting a bit as a sob escapes Dele’s throat, and Eric hugs Dele closer to his chest, whispers _I’m here_ and _You’re gonna get through this_ and _You’re a fighter, Del, this is just another battle that you’re going to come out on top_ and _You did so well today, you’re a pleasure to watch_ and _I love you, I love you, I love you_ until his voice gets hoarse. Eric doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but Eric holds Dele until his tears subside and his breath gets steady once again. Eric doesn’t let go of him though, keeps tracing random patterns on his back as Dele starts fiddling with the zipper of Eric’s hoodie.

“How’re you feeling?” Eric murmurs.

Dele moves so he can look up at him, and Eric’s heart lurches painfully at the tear tracks staining Dele’s cheeks. Eric wipes them with the sleeve of his hoodie and Dele leans into the touch, his eyes a bit clearer, his posture a tad more relaxed than before.

“Better,” Dele says as he loosely wraps his arms around Eric’s shoulders, “you coming back to mine when we get back?”

Eric kisses the tip of Dele’s nose before resting their foreheads together, rubbing circles on Dele’s hip before continuing, “anything you want, Del.”

His mouth turns upwards for the first time since that goddamn 83rd minute and relief fills Eric’s body. He might not be able to keep Dele from getting hurt, and he might not be able to take Dele’s pain away, but this, this he can do. To hold him when it gets tough, until he feels better, warmer, happier. To help Dele put himself together, ready to go again. He knows it is not much, and that Dele is still hurting, but the small smile on his face feels like a small mercy, a beginning, and it is enough. For now.

Dele gives him an eskimo kiss before replying, “thanks for being here, Diet. With me.”

Eric traces Dele’s cheekbone as he contemplates what to say. The way they fit – be it as teammates, friends, or boyfriends – makes him sure that he was meant to find Dele, in this life or in any other. He’s not naïve to think they’ll play together forever. He knows that in a few years time they might not be playing for Tottenham anymore, miles and miles away from each other, because sometimes football is cruel like that, so he asks himself _would I still find a way to be there if he needed me?_ The answer is as easy as breathing, as it normally is when it comes to Dele.

Eric leans in to give him a peck on the lips before finally answering, to both Dele and himself, “always, Del.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eric why are you so goddamn hard to write btw
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](http://runrobborun.tumblr.com/).


	2. the one with eric's missed penalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He remembers a different outcome for this – for watching Eric walk down the pitch to take his place on the penalty spot. A different shootout, a different country, a different crest on his chest, a different life from this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please @universe @spurs stop making them suffer

_ Football is a cruel game _ , Dele thinks as he watches his teammates embrace Eric after he misses his penalty. He remembers a different outcome for this  – for watching Eric walk down the pitch to take his place on the penalty spot. A different shootout, a different country, a different crest on his chest, a different life from this. _ It’ll break your heart if you’re not careful enough. _

Lucas’ shot gets blocked by Kepa’s hands, and just like that they’re out of the Carabao Cup. Dele stares at the TV, watching helplessly as the players exchange words and handshakes, as his teammates retreat towards the tunnel, eyes turned towards the away end, clapping hands in the air despite the slump on their shoulders. It hurts because it is Chelsea, sure, but what truly kills him is knowing that things could have gone differently, if only they weren’t constantly running out of luck.

His hamstring twinges painfully as a reminder of his own particular heartbreak, and not for the first time he curses his body for betraying him, betraying  _ them _ , like that. His hands twitch with the need to do something, anything; he wants to run to the Bridge, he wants to kick something, he wants to call Eric. He wants to tell him to come over, he wants to hold him until everything feels okay again, he wants to make sure Eric believes him when he says that this defeat is not Eric’s fault. 

Dele waits long enough just so he’s sure Eric is already showered and dressed before he calls, biting nervously on his fingernail as he waits for Eric to pick up the phone.

“Come on, Diet,” Dele murmurs to himself, “pick up, come on.”

The call connects on the tenth ring, just before the voicemail kicks in, and Dele lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Hey,” Dele croaks, “hey, Diet.”

_ “Del,” _ Eric answers, his voice rough from yelling for 90 minutes.

They just breathe together for a moment, and Dele can hear Jan and Winksy in the background, and he’s glad that Eric isn’t isolating himself completely.

_ “Can I…” _ Eric starts, then clears his throat,  _ “can I come over?” _

Dele feels like burning something to the ground at the uncertainty he hears in Eric’s voice, and right now Dele hates the football gods for making Eric doubt himself like that.

“Yeah, of course,” Dele says, softly, “Drive carefully, don’t want you falling asleep behind the wheel.”

_ “Alright,”  _ Eric says,  _ “I gotta go now, see you later.” _

“See ya,” Dele murmurs before the call disconnects.

Dele looks at the clock and sighs. Eric won’t arrive for at least an hour, so he tries to distract himself. He scrolls through his Instagram feed, messages Jesse on Whatsapp, starts at least three different shows on Netflix before he settles for watching Peaky Blinders again. He’s starting the second episode when he hears the front door open, hears the usual noise of Eric kicking his trainers off and cursing Dele under his breath for letting his own trainers in the way, before he calls Dele’s name.

“In the living room,” Dele answers.

Eric appears on the door a few moments later, hands in his pockets and eyes downcast. The dejected slump of Eric’s shoulders and his red rimmed eyes tug painfully at Dele’s heart, and he pauses the episode to pat the space beside him in a silent request. Eric sits down, body sagging against Dele’s chest as Dele wraps an arm around his shoulder, a tired sigh falling from Eric’s lips as he starts scratching at the back of his neck. Eric grabs the remote and unpauses the episode, the opening credits filling the silence between them.

They watch most of the episode before Dele speaks again. 

“How are you feeling?” Dele murmurs, nosing gently down the side of Eric’s face.

“Like it’s the end of the fucking world,” Eric laughs humorlessly, “God, I shouldn’t have-”

“Shut up,” Dele presses his lips to Eric’s forehead, “You should, and you did, and I’m fucking proud of you for having the guts for doing it again. Sometimes football is just… Cruel like that.” 

Dele knows Eric doesn’t believe him how, but he has no problem repeating the words to him until he does. It’s a reversal of their roles after the Croatia game, when Dele felt like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders after their defeat, and Eric held him in his arms while Dele cried.  

“How’s your leg?” Eric asks after a while, laying head on Dele’s shoulder so they can look at each other properly.

“It hurts,” Dele touches his leg with his free hand, “It’s a bit shit, innit. I feel like my body is giving up on me.”

Eric hums, blinks lazily at Dele, “it isn’t.”

“What?”

“Giving up on you. Your body,” Eric says, “we’re just… tired. Been a long summer.” 

“Yeah,” Dele agrees, “how are you feeling now?”

“Better,” Eric smiles before he leans up to give Dele a peck, “thank you.”

Dele cups Eric’s head and kisses him again. Eric nips at his bottom lip and Dele groans, the kiss becoming a bit more intense this time. Dele goes to move his legs to straddle Eric, only for his hamstring to protest against the sudden movement.

“Ouch, fuck,” Dele whimpers, falling back against the cushions, hand clutching the back of his leg.

“What!” Eric starts fretting over him, panicked eyes going from Dele’s face to the hand on his leg, understanding washing over his features, “oh, Del.”

Dele laughs breathlessly, “yeah, looks like doing the do is out of the books for a little while.”

“Shut up,” Eric giggles, and Dele hides his smile on the crook of Eric’s neck when he hugs him, “God, I love you so much.”

Dele’s heart is hammering against his ribcage, and he smiles so wide he is afraid his face is gonna break in half, “I love you too. Now chop chop, be a good boy and carry your injured boyfriend to bed.”

“You’re insufferable,” Eric tells him as he picks Dele up bridal style.

“But you loooooooove me,” Dele giggles, lacing his arms around Eric’s neck and batting his eyelashes at him.

Eric gives him a smile before he kisses the tip of Dele’s nose.

“That I do, Delboy. That I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someday i'll write a non-hurt/comfort for them again..... then you'll see.............
> 
> i'm also on [tumblr](https://runrobborun.tumblr.com) if you wanna talk!!


	3. the one where eric is drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whatcha thinking about, Diet?” Dele touches the tip of his nose with his index finger, bringing Eric back to present.

_London, 2021_

Eric groans as he flops face down on the bed, his head spinning and his vision blurry from having too much to drink. He can hear Dele talking to Clay and Cisco downstairs as he heads to the kitchen, the kitchen sink working and dog food being served to his dogs. Eric rolls until he’s on his back, starfishing on the bed and smiling from ear to ear as he remembers the medal around his neck. He touches it, the metal cold under his fingers, much like the way the Prem trophy felt when someone – maybe Winksy? Eric isn’t sure now – handed it to him.

“What are you smiling about?” Dele asks when he pads back into the room, the sound of his laughter filling Eric’s ears.

He smiles some more as he quietly watches Dele setting down the medicine and water on the bedside table before climbing into the bed with Eric, laying on his side and resting his head on Eric’s bicep.

“We won it,” Eric says, and it still feels a bit surreal, saying it out loud.

“Yeah,” Dele traces the ribbon of the medal, a smile curving on his lips before he looks up again, his fingers tangling on the material, “we did it, Diet.”

They had done it. And in true Tottenham Hotspur fashion, no less, nearly driving their supporters to an early grave by beating City 3-2 after trailing 2-0 at halftime. He remembers Kane’s header, and then Sonny slotting the equalizer between Ederson’s legs. But most of all he remembers Dele, always Dele, Dele with a screamer from just outside the box to put them ahead of City on injury time.

Eric remembers the final whistle going, Jan falling on his knees beside him, head in his hands as his tears carried out the weight of a season marked by injuries. Winksy and Rose and Sonny jumping over each other in a puppy pile. The roar of the fans almost deafening on his ears as he ran up the pitch, eyes set on Dele. Falling on the wet pitch, the weight of Dele’s body against his as they rolled around grass and mud and screamed “we did it we won it I fucking love you” to each other.

And then later. Their pinkies linking together for a moment and Dele blowing him a kiss before Hugo lifted the cup. The look on Dele’s face as he touched the trophy for the first time, navy blue and lily white confetti falling from the sky. His laugh while the team threw the gaffer up in the air. The way he wrapped himself around Eric as they joined the crowd screaming _when the Spurs go marching in_ and _Tottenham are the greatest team the world has ever seen_ and _we love you Tottenham, we do_ at the top of their lungs. Everything descending into madness once they reached the dressing room, everyone getting drunk on beer and champagne produced from God knows where. And Dele, always Dele, in the middle of everything as usual, taking selfies with the trophy and getting piggyback rides around the room with a blue and white flag wrapped around his neck, laughing like Christmas had come early.

“Whatcha thinking about, Diet?” Dele touches the tip of his nose with his index finger, bringing Eric back to present.

Eric blinks, his vision still a little woozy from the alcohol, his body heavy like a bag full of rocks sinking in the ocean. He has always been a very honest, very sincere drunk, so right now he feels like letting Dele know what’s running inside his head.

Or who, in this case.

“You,” Eric says.

“Me?” Dele laughs that bright laugh of his, the one that makes Eric think of champagne bubbles and bottled stardust, “what about me?”

“About you scoring the winner today, and how good of a footballer you are. About the way you looked when Harry handed you the trophy. About how you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Eric answers, “And how much I love the sound of your laugh, and your voice when you’re talking to Clay and Cisco.”

“Shut up, Diet,” Dele turns his head, tries to hide his smile against Eric’s bicep, “you’re drunk.”

“No, no, no,” Eric shakes his head, then laughs when he remembers he is, indeed, very much drunk, “I mean, yes, I am, but that doesn’t mean I’m lying. I’m a very sincere drunk.”

Dele throws his back, a loud laugh escaping from his throat before he asks, “Well then, Eric Dier, what else do you love about me?”

“This,” he runs his finger over the scar on Dele’s eyebrow, “because I thought it made you look scrappy when we first met. I wasn’t wrong.”

“What else?”

“The way you look down when you’re embarrassed and the way the light catches on your eyelashes when you’re doing it,” Eric smiles when Dele cracks up.

“God, you’re such a corny drunk,” Dele shakes his head and raises one hand to scratch at Eric’s beard.

“Oh, I love when you do that,” Eric sighs, closing his eyes and melting further on the bed.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Dele stops scratching and Eric groans in response, opening one of his eyes to look at Dele, “what else?”

“Hmmmm,” Eric pretends to think, “the fact that you only wear black jeans with black socks.”

“Well, excuse me, there is no other way to wear them!”

“I love when you smile your tight lipped smile. I love your smile when I call you _meu bem_. I love your tattoos,” Eric raises Dele’s arm, laces their fingers together before pressing a kiss to Dele’s knuckles, “and your hands. I love your annoyed, pouty face when it’s 3 a.m. and I’m still awake because of football. I love your knobby knees. I love your constantly cold feet and the way you sneak them between my legs when you think I’m asleep.”

Eric is fairly sure that Dele is understanding less and less at each sentence, painfully aware that his Portuguese accent gets thicker when he’s drunk or tired, both of which he is right now. He tries to suppress a yawn, blinking sleepily at Dele as he fights to stay awake.

“Alright, as much as I’d love to lay here and hear you wax poetry about me all night,” Dele says as he sits up in bed, “we’re bone tired and a bit drunk. Or a lot, in your case.”

Eric nods, his head deciding to protest against the sudden movement by becoming ten thousand times heavier. He watches in silence as Dele removes the medal from around Eric’s neck, folding the ribbon and placing it carefully on the nightstand before laying back on Eric’s bicep. Eric turns on his side and cuddles Dele closer to him, running his hand up and down Dele’s back, Dele’s hand pressed against his ribcage, over his heart.

“I love being your teammate,” Dele mumbles, pressing a kiss to his neck, “I love winning games with you, and I love winning titles with you, and this is only the first title we’re going to win together. Gotta bring football home next year.”

Eric kisses the side of Dele’s head, a sleepy giggle falling from his lips, “love you, Del.”

“Yeah,” Dele says, and Eric can feel the curve of Dele’s smile against his shoulder, “I got the message when you started talking about the way my eyelashes looked.”

Eric groans. He already knows that the killer headache he’s bound to wake up with will be nothing compared to Dele’s merciless taunting.

“I’m gonna regret this in the morning, won’t I?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dele mumbles before letting out a happy little sigh as his breath starts to even out under Eric’s palms, “you will.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole idea sounded a lot better 1. in my head and 2. when i was drunk  
> comments are always welcome <3
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://runrobborun.tumblr.com)


	4. the one where dele is sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good to know I’m dating the male version of Florence Nightingale herself,” Dele croaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: "dele has come down with a fever and is so out of it and delirious that eric volunteers himself to take care of him until he feels better"

Dele wakes up feeling like he’s dying.

His joints are aching like hell, his nose is all stuffy, his throat protests when he tries to swallow, and he shivers despite being under the covers and having the human furnace that is Eric plastered to his back.

“Eric,” Dele croaks, moving so he can connect his elbow with Eric’s ribs to prod at him when he doesn’t move, “Eric, wake up.”

“Mmmpf,” Eric murmurs uselessly, his fingers splaying wider on Dele’s belly and pulling him a little closer to his body, beard scratching at the back of Dele’s neck, “what.”

Dele starts coughing, groaning in pain when it rips through his already sore throat. His body curls into Eric’s even more as another shiver breaks through. His skin feels too tight, he thinks deliriously, and he’s pretty sure he has a fever. His eyes hurt when he blinks, his vision is all woozy and his head feels abnormally heavy for the rest of his body, even laying down.

“I’m not feeling well,” Dele whines.

Eric moves behind him, putting some distance between their bodies and allowing Dele to roll onto his back, his muscles complaining against the sudden movement. Eric leans over him on his elbow, and Dele blinks heavily at him, willing his burning eyes to bring Eric’s frown into focus. He puts his hand on Dele’s forehead, muttering a curse when he feels his temperature.

“Jesus, Del, you’re _burning up_ ,” Eric says, wincing as another shiver wracks Dele’s body, “what are you feeling?”

“My throat hurts, I can’t breathe and I’m hot but shivering at the same time,” Dele swallows painfully, “I’m dying.”

“Let me get the thermometer, gotta check how high is your fever,” Eric says as he gets up and goes into the ensuite, “maybe get you some Tylenol too.”

He comes back moments later, a thermometer and two red pills in hand, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently untucking the blanket from under Dele’s chin to check how high his fever is. Eric caresses his face while they wait for the thermometer to beep and Dele closes his eyes, leaning into the touch with a soft whine – one that his healthy self would probably be embarrassed of. Eric untucks it from Dele’s armpit when it beeps, his frown deepening when he sees the result.

“39,7ºC. That’s a pretty high one. Here,” Eric puts the thermometer on the nightstand before he hands Dele two Tylenol tablets and a cup of water, “this should help.”

Dele sits up a little to take the pills, forcing them down his sore throat with water. He hands the cup back to Eric and settles back on his pillow, hoping that the shivers subside soon. Or at least the ache in his joints let up for a bit. Eric tucks him in, wrapping his achy body in a blanket burrito before pressing a kiss to his forehead, thumb gently caressing Dele’s feverish cheekbone.

“Stay here,” Dele mumbles.

“I will,” Eric whispers, “now get some sleep, Delboy.”

Dele nods. He thinks about getting his hand out and grabbing hold of Eric’s wrist to keep his soft hand pressed to his cheek until the fever breaks and he can breathe a little better, a small comfort. But Dele is all wrapped up, and he is really fucking tired, and soon the bad night of sleep is piling up with the fever medicine, knocking him out like a light.

~*~

Eric is not there when Dele wakes up a few hours later, drenched but feeling marginally better.

His fever has subsided for now, which explains the sweat, and his throat and limbs doesn’t hurt as much as it did when he first woke up, reduced to a faint throbbing only. He can hear Eric banging about downstairs, talking in Portuguese to Clay and Cisco like they would answer him. Dele reaches for his phone, wincing a little when he sees the time, realizing he has slept until three o’clock in the afternoon. There are a few messages on the Spurs group chat, but Dele ignores them in favor of opening his and Eric’s conversation.

 _nurse where u at_ , Dele types.

Dele smiles a little when Eric’s status changes to online not even ten seconds later.

 _Making u soup_ , he answers. _U alright?_

_better than before_

_bring clay and cisco w u when u come upstairs please_ , Dele types.

Eric reads his message but doesn’t answer it, and Dele pouts a little even though he knows Eric will probably bring the dogs with him. He makes an effort to sit up when he hears Eric coming upstairs, adjusting the pillows so he can rest his back against the headboard, the soft scratch of the dogs’ nails against the wooden floor mixing with Eric’s footsteps. It all feels strangely domestic, and a different kind of warmth settles on Dele’s cheeks when he starts thinking about waking up like this forever, with Eric and Clay and Cisco padding softly into the bedroom.

It must be the fever talking, Dele thinks.

(It’s not, and he knows that, deep down.)

“Look, boys, he’s alive,” Eric says as he comes into the bedroom, tray in hand and Clay and Cisco in tow, “ _eu sei que vocês estão felizes, mas ele deve comer primeiro, ok? Clay, senta. Cisco, senta. Muito bom_.”

Dele can’t stop the silly smile spreading through his face at Eric’s gentle voice and praises, the lilt of his Portuguese tugging at Dele’s heartstrings. He’s still smiling when Eric sets the tray down on the nightstand, handing Dele a bowl of chicken soup and a spoon. Eric sits beside Dele on the bed before reaching over to check his temperature again.

“The fever has gone down, I think,” he says, “you’re still a little warm, though.”

“I stink,” Dele replies, his voice a bit hoarse, before he puts a spoonful of soup in his mouth, swallowing carefully, “hmmm, this is… spicy. What did you put in it?”

“Bit of curry,” Eric answers, one of his hands on Dele’s knee over the covers and the other on Cisco’s head, “it’ll help with the stuffy nose. I’ll run you a shower later. Now eat up.”

Dele eats the rest of the soup in silence, his cheeks warming up under the weight of Eric’s careful attention. He hands him the bowl once he finishes, and Eric gives him a bottle of water in exchange. Dele pats the bed in a silent request for Clay and Cisco to jump in, which they do, happily wagging their tails they make themselves comfortable at the feet of the bed.

Eric closes the curtains and settles on his belly beside Dele, making sure he’s properly cocooned in blankets before reaching over so he can play with Dele’s hair. Dele hums contentedly, closing his eyes and letting himself be lulled by the soothing movements of Eric’s fingers, his own hand running patterns along the length of Eric’s arm.

“Good to know I’m dating the male version Florence Nightingale herself,” Dele croaks.

Eric sighs, tugging gently at a longer curl before he answers, “surprised you even know who she is.”

“God, Diet. Be nice to me, I’m sick.”

“Nice try, but remember when I had my appendectomy and one of the first things you said to me was that I was a few scars and a ginger hair away from becoming Chucky from _Child’s Play_?”

“Fuck, I am ruthless sometimes,” Dele wheezes a laugh, blinking sleepily at Eric, “and you made me spicy soup.”

Eric has a reluctant smile on his lips as he replies, “I did.”

Dele nods, very solemn, “thank you, Florence.”

“You’re welcome, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Eu sei que vocês estão felizes, mas ele deve comer primeiro, ok? Clay, senta. Cisco, senta. Muito bom." = "I know you're happy to see him, but he has to eat first, ok? Clay, sit. Cisco, sit. Very good."  
> comments are always nice <3  
> hmu on [tumblr](https://runrobborun.tumblr.com)!!


	5. the one where eric sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You should sing me a song,” Dele says, taking a sip of his drink.  
> Eric snorts. “And why should I do that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said fuck writing eric in character.  
> anyways! have some fluff.
> 
> for the prompt: eric sings something for dele/in front of dele.

For someone that flatout refuses to sing on the Spurs’ Nutmeg Forfeit™, Eric sure loves a good karaoke.

Dele watches with barely contained amusement as he sings along to Jan’s and Sonny’s utterly ridiculous rendition of _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ , his upper body swaying from side to side beside Dele’s on the huge armchair they’re sharing. It’s preseason, and their hotel in the States has a private, quiet outdoor area reserved for them where the team can hang out and relax, so they had decided to bring the karaoke machine outside for some team-bonding time. The patio is illuminated by strings of overhead lights, and the lads are lounging on armchairs and loveseats, fruity drinks flowing around as dusk settles around them. A breeze blows by, making the summer heat a bit more bearable.

“Which song d’you reckon I should sing?” Eric bumps their knees together, his arm thrown over the back of the armchair.

“I don’t understand why you refuse to sing the forfeit song,” Dele says in lieu of an answer to Eric’s question. “You like singing, you do it all the time.”

It's true. Eric sings while he’s driving, bopping along to lyrics sung in Portuguese. He sings while he’s cooking, and while he’s doing the dishes, too, low and soft and distracted and straight into Dele’s heart. He even sings in the shower, and Dele snorts when he thinks about the time he had heard him singing _Drunk in Love_ at the top of his lungs.

“It’s the principle that matters, Del,” Eric flicking gently at Dele’s earlobe.

Dele rolls his eyes. Eric makes no sense sometimes.

“You make no sense,” Dele tells him.

“ _You_ make no sense,” is Eric’s answer, like the ten year-old he is, before he continues. “Seriously, what should I sing?”

An idea springs into Dele's mind suddenly, unbidden, almost as if there’s a cartoonish light bulb flashing on over his head.

“You should sing me a song,” Dele says, taking a sip of his drink.

Eric snorts. “And why should I do that?”

Dele rests his head against Eric’s forearm, exposing his neck as he looks at him, blinking slowly. He sees Eric swallow as he traces the length of Dele’s neck with his eyes. Dele runs his hand up Eric’s thigh, fingers tracing the inseam of his shorts, feeling his leg tense up under his touch. Dele bites back a smile, a squirmy feeling on his stomach when he looks up and notices the way Eric is staring at him, blue eyes hooded and teeth digging into his bottom lip. Dele inches his hand closer to Eric’s crotch, just to see the hitch on his breath, before he wets his lips and speaks again.

“On the principle that I’m your boyfriend,” he murmurs, aware that Eric’s stare is fixed on his mouth and on the slow smile that is spreading on his lips. “And who knows. You might get lucky when get back to our room later.”

“Is that a promise, Delboy?” Eric croaks.

“Depends on how well you sing,” Dele winks before pulling Eric in for a quick peck on the cheek.

Eric swallows, and Dele wants to laugh at the flustered look on his face. It’s nice, knowing that he can still make Eric blush like that, even months into their relationship. The lads applauding Jan’s and Sonny’s attempt at murdering _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ interrupt their moment, and signal that Eric is up next.

“Go on, then,” Dele elbows him. “Be a good boy.”

Eric’s blush gets deeper as he removes himself from Dele’s side and walks over the karaoke machine. The lads all cheer him on, and Dele can see the back of Eric’s neck getting pink with embarrassment. He snickers as he makes himself comfortable on the lounge chair, considers taking his phone out to register the moment before deciding against it. Knowing his teammates, there will probably be lots of footage of tonight appearing on Instagram later.

“What are you going to sing, Eric?” Coco asks from where he’s sitting with Toby and Jan.

“There’s too many options,” Eric says, then, “oh, nevermind, found it!”

Eric turns around to face the crowd just as the songs starts, eyes set on Dele as he waits for him to recognize the song, and Dele can’t help the giggle he lets out once the trumpets become louder. His mind wanders back to a lazy Sunday morning a few months ago, and sunlight streaming through the windows, and swaying around the kitchen in Eric's arms, barefoot and hiding his smile on Eric's shoulder as Neil Diamond crooned from the radio.

“Oh, no, Eric,” Dele murmurs, even though there’s a fond smile on his face as he leans on his hand to watch Eric embarrassing himself to his amusement once again, his heart doing a little somersault against his ribcage.

“ _Where it began_ ,” Eric sings. “ _I can't begin to knowing, but then I know it's growing strong…_ ”

“ _HANDS!_ ” Ben yells.

Eric laughs, cheeks red, but keeps singing. “ _T_ _ouching hands… Reaching out... touching me... touching you… SWEEEEEEEEEET CAROLINE_.”

“ _Tan dan dan_ ,” the whole team joins in, and Dele finds himself belting the lyrics too, just like that morning on Eric’s kitchen. “ _Good times never felt so good…_ ”

“ _I’ve been inclined_ ,” and now Eric is looking at Dele, straight at him and Dele feels warm all over, “ _to believe they never would_...”

Eric gestures for the lads to keep singing along with him, skipping from side to side and laughing, his golden hair shining under the fairy lights, his smile like a beacon in the night. Everybody claps and sings, and Dele feels all warm and fuzzy inside every time their eyes cross paths. He blows a kiss to Eric when it happens for the second time, face heating up even more when Eric taps his closed fist against his chest, right where his heart is, and winks.

“ _Sweet Caroline, good times never seemed so good_ …” Eric sings, his eyes once again searching for Dele’s as the song comes to an end, a smile on his lips as he takes a bow and everybody claps and whistles.

Eric hands the mic to Coco and a reluctant Chris before walking back to their seat. Dele moves aside so he can sit down, his back against the chair’s arm and his feet on Eric’s lap as Ed Sheeran’s _Shape of You_ starts playing and the lads explode in laughs at Chris’ expanse. Dele watches Eric as he talks to Jan, his gaze fixed on Eric’s profile. There’s a tingle on the tip of his fingers and on the bottom of his stomach – an itch to touch and to be touched, to surrender himself to Eric, to bask in the love and warmth he provides, is always willing to give to Dele. Suddenly he can’t wait to be back in their room, to feel Eric’s body against his, to kiss and kiss and kiss Eric until their lips are swollen. _Later_ , Dele thinks, _the night is dwindling down anyway_.

As if he feels the weight of Dele’s stare – which he probably does, Dele knows he’s doing some heavy staring –, Eric turns to look at Dele, hand wrapping around Dele’s ankle before he smiles.

“Did you enjoy your song?”

Dele tips his head to the left as if he’s considering his answer, his toes flexing against Eric’s thigh as he bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smile. He leans closer to whisper on his ear. “Bit corny.”

“Don’t lie.”

Dele laughs, “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Good,” Eric nods, his voice solemn. “I’m so getting laid tonight.”

“Shut up, Eric,” Dele punches him on the shoulder.

(He’s not wrong, though.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sweet caroline is a timeless anthem.
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://runrobborun.tumblr.com)!!


	6. the one with eric's tonsillitis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bit unfair that I’ve been away for weeks and now I can’t even kiss you because of your bloody tonsils,” Dele mumbles, another reason for him to be cross with Eric’s shit immune system. “We’ll have to spend two days locked inside and shagging in every room to make up for the lost time once you get better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short one and it is, you guessed it, yet another sick fic

Dele comes home from rehab training to find Eric spread out on the bed, fast asleep and snoring a bit. _Well, at least he’s resting_ , Dele thinks as he sits down next to him. He reaches for Eric’s forehead to check his temperature, which was running high before he left the house, glad to see that the antibiotics had kicked in and lowered Eric’s fever while Dele was out. Eric shuffles a little closer, his sweaty skin pressing against Dele’s palm, a low noise leaving his throat and making him wince in pain because of his inflamed tonsils, before he goes quiet again.

Dele leans down to press a kiss to Eric’s temple before resting his forehead against it and closing his eyes, sighing. There’s an ache in his heart when he thinks about how familiar he has become with having to take care of Eric these last few months, with the sight of slumped shoulders and a dejected look in Eric’s eyes at not being able to play - again and again and again - because his bloody immune system keeps betraying him. For the thousand time since December and the whole appendix debacle, Dele wills the universe into giving Eric a break.

With one last kiss to Eric’s temple, Dele makes to get up from the bed to get downstairs with the intention of checking if he has all the ingredients to cook some fresh soup for Eric, but a hand around his wrist halts his movements and Dele looks up to see a pair of blue eyes blinking at him.

“Hey, you’re back,” Eric croaks as he moves to sit up slightly, and Dele hands him another pillow so he rest his back more comfortably against the headboard. “Thanks, Del. How was rehab?”

Eric pats the bed beside him and Dele pads over, the soup momentarily forgotten as he sits cross legged beside his boyfriend, their fingers laced together on Dele’s lap. Dele shrugs, considering his answer, “Ah, you know. Same old. Got to stare at the boys through the window while my hamstring acted up a bit still. How are you feeling?”

“Slightly better,” Eric says, swallowing as if to prove to both of them that he can actually do it without wincing in pain. “Throat hurts a little less, and the antibiotics kicked in soon after you left. And then I fell asleep, and now I woke up and you’re back.”

With each word he pulls Dele closer to his body, and Dele giggles as he straddles Eric’s legs and rests his head on his collarbone, breathing him in as he wraps his arms around Eric’s torso and hugs him tight for a moment, feeling a bit like a koala.

“Good,” Dele whispers, the knot of worry in his chest loosening considerably. “Are you hungry?”

“Nah, just wanna cuddle,” Eric murmurs, hand running up and down Dele’s spine as their settle against each other, their legs slotting together despite the duvet between their bodies. “Miss kissing you.”

Yeah, after two weeks of talking through Whatsapp messages and seeing only pixelated versions of each other, their current predicament is… less than ideal.

“Bit unfair that I’ve been away for weeks and now I can’t even kiss you because of your bloody tonsils,” Dele mumbles, another reason for him to be cross with Eric’s shit immune system. “We’ll have to spend two days locked inside and shagging in every room to make up for the lost time once you get better.”

Eric’s chest rumbles under Dele’s cheek as lets out a wheezing laugh, and Dele smiles a little, lets himself be soothed by the sound of it. Eric kisses the top of Dele’s head before mumbling into his curls, “I’ll ask Poch for two more sick days, don’t worry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eric is back to training so, as usual, i am Late for the whole thing
> 
> let me know if you spot any mistakes!  
> i'm on [tumblr](https://runrobborun.tumblr.com) also x


End file.
